Free The Pursuit of Pleasure by Elizabeth Essex Page A

Standing below on the path, staring up at us.” She started forward to follow.
    He drew her firmly away as he looked over the rim of the path. It was McAlden, making his way down to the small beach in the cove where they’d stashed a dory.
    “Groundsman, I think. Lizzie.” He turned her attention back up to his face. “It’s going to rain any moment now. Why don’t you go in? I’ll just speak to the man about seeing to the horses. You go on back up. Mrs. Tupper will have pulled together a tea, or something, by now.”
    He pushed her firmly in the direction of the house and headed down the path before she could object. McAlden waited out of sight below.
    Hugh McAlden was the kind of friend and comrade one could trust with one’s life. Marlowe had done so, on several occasions. Just as McAlden had trusted him with his life.
    Perhaps it was their shared Scots heritage that had originally brought them together as midshipmen and later, brother officers and friends. It was about all they had in common—they were opposites in body and in spirit.
    Where Marlowe was long and lean, Hugh McAlden was powerfully built. Marlowe was dark-haired and pale, and McAlden was a ruddy-faced blond. And where Marlowe didn’t mind sailing by dead reckoning and the feel of the waves, McAlden was a man who liked to plan out every possible ramification of each move and pore over his charts. Together they made a strong team.
    “Sorry I broke up your cozy moment. Is it done then?”
    “It is. You see before you a happily married man.”
    McAlden made a guttural sound of disbelief. “Seems an awful lot of trouble to go through just to secure things.”
    “You only think so because you’ve nothing to secure.”
    “Of course I do. Only I keep it safe and sound in the five percents, not lording it about on great big houses.”
    “Boring. And besides this will work much better for our plans. This way the house is really secure. But you’ll have to shift your berth for the time being.”
    “Shift? What about our plan? What about—”
    “Changed for the time being. Today, no more. Needs must …”
    “… when the devil drives?” McAlden finished. “And where am I to go? There’s a storm blowing in.”
    “I don’t know. There’s a loft over the stables with empty rooms for the lads. Take the largest—whatever has a fireplace.”
    McAlden scoffed. “You’ll forgive me for saying you’ve shite for brains, Captain. There’s no fireplace in a stables. It would be like having an oven next to the powder locker on a ship.”
    “Damn. Hadn’t thought of that.” He pulled his mouth sideways at the wry admission.
    “And that’s why you shouldn’t be lording it about in great country houses. You’re a sailor, not a squire.”
    “I’ve got to be both for the time being. Take the gardener’s cottage, since that’s what you’re meant to be anyway. I’ve told her you’re a groundsman.”
    That got a grudging laugh out of the man. “And me caught out in my smuggler’s kit. I’ll be sure to get dirt under my fingernails.”
    Marlowe smiled in return. “You’ll do as you are. Just be sure to stay out of sight until we’re gone.”
    “Right,” McAlden nodded in concession. “And you?”
    “I’m trying to get her back down to the Red Harte, but she’s proving fractious.”
    “Your plan was for the house to be empty.”
    “As soon as I leave, it will be.” Marlowe shoved his handsthrough his hair. “Though she’s making ridiculous noises about moving out here.”
    McAlden made a sour face. “I did tell you she’d be nothing but trouble.”
    “She’s not nothing but. Besides, I couldn’t take the chance of the place being sold out from under me. The house and estate are protected in the marriage settlement. She can’t sell, and I’ll take her back into town. All will be well.”
    Then why did his gut twist into a knot even as he said the words? Glass Cottage was bloody well perfect for what he remembered of